


Spit-slick

by VeraBAdler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean, Bunker Fic, Destiel - Freeform, First Time, Happy Sex, M/M, Shmoop, sexy cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 23:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1759401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I always swore I was never gonna write fanfic, but I guess if you shove enough of it into your brain, some of it starts leaking back out.  I woke up this morning with this ficlet half-written in my head.  My nearly-teenager asked while I was writing if it was an AU and I said, "it's Supernatural but everybody's happy, so I guess that's kind of an AU".  Anyway, I think this is Human!Cas, so a divergence from the middle of season 9 somewhere, maybe, sorta?</p>
    </blockquote>





	Spit-slick

**Author's Note:**

> I always swore I was never gonna write fanfic, but I guess if you shove enough of it into your brain, some of it starts leaking back out. I woke up this morning with this ficlet half-written in my head. My nearly-teenager asked while I was writing if it was an AU and I said, "it's Supernatural but everybody's happy, so I guess that's kind of an AU". Anyway, I think this is Human!Cas, so a divergence from the middle of season 9 somewhere, maybe, sorta?

Dean has never felt like this before.

He's had sex before, sure. There have been a _lot_ of women. More than a few men, too.

Life on the road, life as a hunter, is only occasionally about the hunt. For every moment of adrenaline-soaked, life-or-death heroism, there are seemingly _endless_ hours of boredom and loneliness and frustration and self-doubt. Days with no one to talk to except Sam. Days when you start to feel like a ghost yourself. Days when the TV in the motel room picks up nothing except local access and Oprah and the witnesses aren't saying anything that helps and you start to wonder if it's _you_. Maybe someone else would've ganked this thing already. Maybe you're not the man you thought you were.

Sex pushes all of that away. Sex passes the time and proves that you exist. Sex makes you feel human again. Sex fills in all the persistent holes in your mind _and_ your body, all of the places where you feel like you lack something that other people don't.

And Dean is _good_ at sex. He knows he is. He knows how to give, and take, and how to read another person's body to find the spots that draw out _yesnowplease_ and _ohmygodmore_. Taking someone apart, giving them what is obviously going to be thought of later as the best night of their life, leaves him feeling powerful and fulfilled and heroic, the same way a good hunt does. It leaves him feeling, for a few minutes, like maybe his life _hasn't_ been a decades-long gauntlet of darkness and death. 

So yeah, he's had sex. And some of it has been amazing, and some of it has been surprising, and some of it has been weird, and it's all been pretty fun, but he has _never_ felt like this before.

He's never spent what feels like _hours_ just rubbing his spit-slick lips back and forth against someone else's mouth because they're both grinning too hard to actually _kiss_ and they can't _stop_ grinning and it's messy and pointless and ridiculous and easily the best damn thing he's ever done in his life.

He's never just wanted to rub himself against another body like this. They're both naked, both _so_ hard, but there's no penetration, or even rutting. They're just touching their skin together, all over, and it's so good he never _never_ wants to stop. He keeps thinking about animals, about otters, swimming together and slipping against each other, and he feels sleek and smooth and alive, and sex has never been so much like playing, and he doesn't know if they're ever going to actually come, and he doesn't even care, because his whole body is lit up with joy and pleasure.

Despite the fact that it feels like they've been here, naked, touching, not-quite-kissing, for most of his life by this point, Dean thinks maybe it's only been about 45 minutes since they fell into his room, into his bed. Sure, they've been heading that way for a while. The case could be made that they've been heading that way for _years_. But certainly the flirtation, the tension, the endless eye contact and the not-so-casual touches and the intimate lilts of voice have all been building since Cas moved into the Bunker. 

It had stopped feeling unimaginable and started feeling inevitable about 4 days ago. Dean had looked across the breakfast table at sleepy Cas, munching his toast with his usual gusto and focus, and his only thought had been _I want this. I want him. I want us, here, like this, for the rest of our lives_. It wasn't a decision, but a realization that a decision had already been made at some point without him noticing, one that was permanent and binding.

It should have felt scary to realize how totally he and Cas belonged to each other, but it had felt obvious. His next thought was just, _oh._ Because it was totally doable. They were here, together. They were alive. They could do this.

Sure, Dean had set up a room before he'd gone to pick Cas up and bring him home. He'd aired out sheets and blankets from the giant linen closet and arranged a few simple pieces of furniture and tried to make it look like _not_ a freaking motel room even though clearly that was still the first thing Dean thought of when he thought of a place to sleep. He'd tried to make it homey and welcoming while still leaving it mostly a blank canvas for Cas to decorate and make his own. So yeah, Cas had his own room in the Bunker, his own room to live in.

But Dean had also shyly and quickly rearranged _his_ room, just before he'd gone out to meet Cas at the bus station. He'd done it almost with his eyes closed, pretending that he wasn't doing it, letting his hands move without his notice. Now there were two pillows on the bed, a second nightstand, a couple of cleared shelves and a couple of empty dresser drawers and half a closet with nothing but bare hangers, waiting to be filled. There was a persistent hole in Dean's room now, waiting to be filled. There was a persistent hole in Dean's life, and it was time to fill it for good.

So the decision had already been made by the time he'd realized that there was even a question, and Dean had moved forward from there. Never let it be said that a Winchester is afraid of moving forward, of putting a plan into action. But it had taken Dean another day or so to figure out that he didn't need a plan, that this wasn't a _hunt_ , that there didn't need to be a chase or a seduction or a pursuit. 

All he needed to do was open up, to make his heart ready the way he'd made his room ready. Once he'd realized that he _belonged_ to Cas, that this was _it_ for him, once he'd looked at that already-made decision and smiled, the furtiveness and the fear went away. The flirtation and the tension and the eye contact and the touches and the lilts of voice turned into something else. 

Finally, he wasn't second-guessing the number of inches of space between them on the couch or tearing his eyes away prematurely from that intense blue gaze or regretfully biting back the silly dirty joke that had popped into his head. The strain and the stiffness and the painful self-control were gone and in their place was Dean truly being Dean, acting towards Cas the way he'd always wanted to, the way he'd always repressed out of fear and self-loathing.

Cas had responded to Dean's changed heart immediately. The weight was gone between them and there was only pleasure in each other's company. Their arms pressed together as they sat on the couch and neither of them moved away. Their eyes locked while they were talking about an upcoming hunt and the gaze held, on and on with no self-consciousness or worry on either side. They split a beer, sitting on the roof of the Bunker and watching the stars come out. Everything felt comfortable and easy and intimate. Everything felt like it should have felt from the beginning.

And now they're here, in Dean's bed, sinking joyfully into the memory foam together. They're touching from their foreheads to their toes, moaning and laughing and sighing and tangling together.

"You can stay here," Dean says. He didn't know he was planning to speak before it happened.

"I _want_ to stay here, in the Bunker," Cas replies, breathing heavily but still managing to convey _duh_ in his tone of voice. "You already told me I could."

"No, I mean stay here, in this room, with me. I cleared out half the dresser, and there's room in the closet. Stay here. With me." Dean doesn't know how this happened, how the mood got shifted from _we're naked, this is great_ to _chick flick moment_ , and suddenly he's terrified. What if Cas says no?

Cas doesn't say no. Cas kisses him hard, smiles against his skin, whispers _yes._

**Author's Note:**

> Rebloggable link [here](http://blessyourhondahurley.tumblr.com/post/107978131591/spit-slick-verabadler).


End file.
